


Proper Childcare

by Marty (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Babysitting, Bickering, Fingering, Incest, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for a friend on Tumblr a month or so ago. Bro's name is Dean because, at the time, that was my favorite headcanon name for him! My moirail made me tag everything. Sobs.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Proper Childcare

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend on Tumblr a month or so ago. Bro's name is Dean because, at the time, that was my favorite headcanon name for him! My moirail made me tag everything. Sobs.

You pick up the phone and you’re a little surprised to hear John’s dad on the line, rather than John himself. “Dean, can I ask a favor of you?”

You roll your eyes at the name and keep annoyance out of your voice as you shift the phone to rest on your shoulder as you go back to playing your Xbox. “Call me Bro, seriously. What do you need?"

“Would you perhaps be able to babysit this Saturday? I’m going out of town and I’m going to be gone until late in the night.”

There’s a long pause on your end of things while you wait for the guy to laugh and tell you it was a prank or something. He doesn’t, so you’re the first to speak after the long silence. “…You know your kid is sixteen, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And you’re hiring a babysitter.”

“Call it a chaperone if you’d rather. If you don’t want to, I can find somebody else.”

“Okay, okay. Saturday. What time?”

“Ten in the morning?” You almost groan at that, but whatever. Yeah, you can deal with it. “I’ll have lunch and dinner in the fridge, they’ll just need to be reheated. I’ll make enough for Dave, too. I’m probably going to be gone until one or maybe even two in the morning, and I just don’t want John to be left by himself that long.”

“Alright, yeah, I’ll do it.”

You don’t really bother to ask about pay because you know it’ll be worked out later, if at all. Hell, you’re ‘babysitting’ a sixteen year old boy. It doesn’t matter a whole lot to you if you get paid. You’re just getting a couple of free meals and some time to chill out.

He lists off where he keeps the emergency numnbers and you ‘mm-hm’ your way through them, handing the phone off to Dave when he’s finished so he can talk to his friend.

-

10AM on Saturday comes quick, and you’re tired as shit. You were lucky to get yourself out of bed, even luckier to drag Dave with you. He’s been half dead all morning and you have to practically drag him out of the car when you get to the Egbert house.

John’s dad is out the door and thanking you as soon as you get there, and you nod and Dave sits down on the couch, so you follow suit. John’s already sitting there and he looks like he’s pretty goddamn awake for ten in the morning.

Almost like he’s been up for a couple hours and had a couple dozen cups of coffee.

“Morning, Egbert,” Dave mumbles, practically curling up on the couch, pulling the blanket from the back of it down and around him.

“Morning, Dave,” the kid chirps. Literally chirps. You wonder how Dave can deal with going to school with this kid every day. Oh. Right. He doesn’t, half the time.

John already has plans for the day, though. A pile of movies sits on top of the DVD player, and he draws the curtains and makes it as dark in the living room as it can possibly get—which isn’t dark, considering it’s ten in the morning.

You sit down beside Dave, stretching out and draping one leg over his lap and smirking at the raised eyebrow you get. It isn’t long, though, before you’re shoving your way into his little blanket cocoon and John’s laughing as you practically push your way into his lap. He shoves you off, but opens his arms.

“Aww, Dave wants cuddles.” He flips you off but doesn’t retract his offer, so you wrap yourself up in the blanket, too. It’s cold, even if John doesn’t especially think so. You shift around to get comfortable, and find that you really _do_ have to be almost cuddling with Dave for both of you to be comfortable. How romantic.

You sit like that with him for the rest of the movie, and then John gets up to switch the Ghostbusters DVD in the player for Ghostbusters II, and that’s when Dave starts rubbing little circles into your thigh with his thumb. You raise and eyebrow at him, but he just half-shrugs, moving his hand from your thigh to your dick. You let out a choked little noise in an attempt not to moan as he presses his palm down hard against you through your jeans, and you jab your elbow into his side as John turns around to come back and sit down. He only shrugs again, as though he doesn’t care if John figures out what it is that’s happening underneath the blanket. He proves that he doesn’t give a shit when he slides his hand beneath the waistband of your boxers and begins to stroke you despite the fact that you’re his brother.

Jesus.

You let this go on for a while. Maybe longer than you should. You’re bucking into his hand and you give his shoulder a rough squeeze when you’re about to come because you don’t especially want to sit in it for the next twelve or thirteen hours and he stops, pulling his hand away.

You pretend not to notice when he shoves both hands down his own pants a few minutes later, and you’re a little more than surprised when he bucks his hips up a few times only moments later, slumping against you. You’re more surprised that John hasn’t noticed any of this. You raise an eyebrow as Dave wipes his hands off on the inside of his boxers—he’s doing laundry for the next month, that’s fucking gross and you’re going to tell him so later—and casually folds his arms over his chest as though nothing happened.

You glance at the clock, then, and you realize it’s actually a little past the time most people would have lunch.

It’s also only a little past the time you’d usually be getting out of bed. The movie’s almost over anyway, so you untangle yourself from the mess of blanket you’ve been snuggling up to your brother in, and stand up, turning to John.

“Where’d your dad put lunch, any idea?”

“Middle shelf in the fridge,” he replies quickly, eyes not leaving the screen for a moment. You wonder if he eats in the living room or in the dining room.

You open the fridge and stare at the middle shelf a moment before you find what you’re looking for—a container of sausages. Sweet baby jesus this is a wonderful lunch and you would very much like to hug John’s dad for it. You expected pizza pockets or something. You pull the lid off and drop it in the sink, putting the container into the microwave and searching through the cupboards for plates and forks and knives. You find all three, and it doesn’t take you long. The microwave beeps and Dave seems to have been able to drag John away from the end of the movie.

Putting Dave beside you may have been a mistake, you think.

He takes a long drink of his apple juice when he sits down, then shoves his fork into a sausage, not bothering to cut it.

He puts it in his mouth as he makes eye contact with you, his eyes half-lidded, tongue pressed up against the piece of meat. He’s trying really hard to make it look like he’s giving head, and then he takes the whole thing into his mouth, and you glare at him from behind your shades.

John’s laughing as your kid brother sucks his lunch off like his life depends on it.

“Dude, gross,” he says, covering his eyes and looking away with a giggle.

Then you ‘accidentally’ knock Dave’s plate off the table and into his lap.

The plate lands in his lap, then clatters to the floor, and he drops the fork in his hand, along with the sausage he had previously been sucking on. You let out an overexaggerated “Whoops, sorry,” as you stand to offer help. His shirt is stained, and you pull him out of his chair.

“Shit, Bro, what the fuck?” You ignore him and pull him along with you.

“Sorry, John,” you say, sounding almost sincere. “I need to get Dave into the shower or something, he’s so damn clumsy, isn’t he?” John seems a little surprised and a lot unsure what to say, so he just shrugs. “Would you mind cleaning up the floor while I do that?”

You see John nod out of the corner of your eye and you almost feel bad for what you’re about to do.

You guide Dave up the stairs and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“Bro, what the fuck?”

“Shirt off, little bro,” you say, voice even. “C’mon, we don’t have all day. It’s like you’re a little kid or something, spilling your lunch all over yourself. Gonna have to borrow some of Egbert’s clothes or something.”

He glares at you, and he looks as though he’s about to say something, but he stays silent and just pulls his shirt up over his head, throwing it towards you. You catch it with your body, looking up at him over your shades when you realize that he’s gotten meat juice on your shirt, too.

He takes his shades off and rolls his eyes at you, setting them down on the back of the sink and turning on the water.

“You gonna supervise my shower and everything? Make sure you say ‘no homo’ every time you take a good long look at my junk.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, then, and you take your chance while his back is turned to pull off your shades and your shirt, dropping both his shirt and your own on the floor, putting your shades beside his on the sink.

He turns and looks as though he’s intending to shoo you off, but he sees that you’re not wearing a shirt anymore and he seems to freeze up, only a little.  
“What are you doing.” He doesn’t even phrase it as a question.

“Well, you got my shirt dirty too—might as well do the polite thing and shower together. It’s not our water bill, after all.”

He just stares at you for a long while and you shrug, dropping your pants to the floor. “C’mon, quit wasting time,” you say, stepping towards him and giving his pants a little tug.

“Bro, seriously? Let me take a shower by myself, I’m not some little kid and I don’t need my brother sneaking peeks at my dick every five seconds.”

You roll your eyes again and press his back against the tile wall behind him. He’s a lot taller than he used to be, and you’re actually at eye level with him, so you lean down a little bit to mouth at his neck. He makes a little noise of protest at that and pushes you off. You don’t really fight him, just back off and watch as he hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and yanks his pants down, taking his boxers with them. You fail to keep your eyes off of his dick and he scoffs at you for that.

“Ain’t my fault it’s out there.”

“Ain’t my fault you’re kissing my neck like a whore.”

“Ain’t my fault you shoved your hand down my pants and jerked me off in your best friend’s living room, numbnuts.”

He shuts up at that, and grudgingly climbs into the shower, closing the curtain behind him. When you pull your remaining clothes off and join him, he tries to shove you out.

“Hey, man, fuck off,” you hiss against his ear, pressing against his back and making sure he can feel that you’re hard.

“Why don’t you fuck off? Jesus. I’m just trying to shower here.”

He picks up the soap and you smirk.

“Make sure you don’t drop the soap, man.”

This seems to surprise him, and he does just that. It’s on the floor and he bends to get it and that’s when you put your hands on his hips and press against him, not roughly enough to actually push into him, but enough to let him know that you’re there.

He freezes up and lets out a little noise.

“Bro, holy shit, that is all kinds of fucking illegal,” is all he says, and you press a little bit harder.

“Like giving me a fucking handjob is any less illegal than me fucking your ass.”

“That’s… Different, holy fuck.”

He seems like he’s having a hard time processing what you’re doing and you pull back. He’s still bent over, and he still hasn’t picked up the soap. You push one finger against him and he tenses up again.

“Jesus, this is gonna hurt more if you’re tense and shit than it will if you chill the fuck out.” It seems to click with him, then, that this is a thing that is happening, and he stands up and turns around.

“Bro, I’ll… I’ll suck you off or something, but I’m not taking a dick in my ass without lube. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Your hand drifts down to grasp his dick and you give it a little tug before stepping out of the shower without another word, and reaching for your pants.

A Strider always comes prepared. You stand and step back into the shower, small bottle in hand. He turns around again, almost as if he expected you to stay out of the shower, and you loop an arm around his waist, pulling him to you and grinding against him, the skin on skin contact making you groan quietly. You glance over his shoulder and pour more than enough lube onto your fingers, immediately pressing two against him. He tenses up momentarily, then grits his teeth together and forces himself to relax. When you push the first finger in, he gasps and his muscles tighten and he arches forward, like he’s trying to get away from your finger.

You only push him closer against you, and he wraps his arms around your neck, holding himself up. You push that finger deeper and he grunts loudly, digging his nails into your shoulders.

“Do I have to turn you around?”

He lets out a breath that he seems to have been holding in.

“What? No.”

“Quit digging your nails in, then, you little pussy.”  
He immediately lets go of you, leaning back and holding himself up using the shelves of the shower. You bring one of his legs up and lift it above your shoulder, smirking ever so slightly as he struggles to keep his balance. You bring his other leg up, too, and he lets out a little noise in surprise.

“Bro, come on, I can stand.”

“Too bad.”

You push your finger the rest of the way in, ignoring how achingly hard it makes you when he makes little whimpering noises. He’s biting his lip, trying not to make any sound, but he’s failing miserably and he knows it.

You build up a decent pace with one finger before you add a second, and he makes little noises each time you push in. You curl your fingers and press upward and he almost lets himself fall, then you pull your fingers out all the way, just to tease.

When you push them back in, there’s a third one added, and he actually groans. You smirk and use those three fingers to stretch him out. You know you’re being a little rougher than is likely necessary—he definitely doesn’t seem to mind, though.  
There are a couple long minutes where you’re just pumping into him with your fingers and he’s letting out those obscene little moans before you pull your fingers out and popping open the lid of the lube again, letting him watch as you cover yourself in what you’re pretty sure is more than enough. He shifts and squirms and you set the lube on a shelf, putting both hands on his hips and guiding him downward.

Pushing into him makes you groan, and it makes him groan louder. You’ll be genuinely surprised if the Egbert kid isn’t standing outside the door or something, just listening, because Dave is being a hell of a lot louder than he needs to be. He lets go of the shelves and leans forward, wrapping his arms around you again as he lets himself sink lower onto you, whining loudly. You can’t deny that you’re impressed and a little turned on with the way he’s got his arms wrapped around your neck and his legs resting on your shoulders.

“Bro, oh fuck, there is something beyond wrong with you,” he whispers, biting down hard on your neck after he finishes speaking. You dig your nails into his hips and lift him a little, letting him slide back down almost immediately. This seems to shut him up and he groans loudly again.

You’ve stayed quiet. Mostly. You bite down hard on his neck, too, sucking and licking and hoping to hell you leave a nice mark. His legs are shaking and you almost think he wants to move them, but he wraps them tight around your neck instead.

“You’re doing this all wrong, holy fuck,” you hiss, exasperated with the way he’s trying to move. let his legs drop from your shoulders and shove him off of you, turning him around and forcing him into bending over, twisting his arm behind his back and pressing against him again.

“No, Bro—” he’s cut off by his own loud groan when you push into him hard, and his legs buckle and then he’s down on his knees and you go right with him, fingernails gently digging into hips, and then you’re thrusting, hard and fast, and he’s making sounds like he’s trying out for Assblaster 24 or some shit, and you grab onto his hair and pull, then you’re biting down on his neck again, and you’re being anything but gentle.

You listen to his little whines and moans for a long while, content to thrust and trying to keep yourself quiet, before you bring your hand around to the front of him, grabbing onto his dick and pumping hard.  
Dave shouts your name—probably as loud as he feasibly can—as he comes, warm and white spilling out over your hand, and then he grinds back into you, intent on making you come, too.

You make an effort to thrust harder than you had been before, pulling his hips back hard against yours with each thrust. Dave seems to be trying to moan louder than he was before, too—as if that were humanly possible. It isn’t long before you’re gasping, pulling out of him, and grabbing onto your dick, thrusting into your hand hard. He turns to look at you, like he’s making sure you’re finished, and you grab him by the hair, roughly pulling him towards you to finish onto his face. The look on his face is absolutely _precious_ , and you pull him up into an open-mouthed kiss, shamelessly dragging your tongue up his cheek, not minding—almost enjoying—the thick, salty fluid. You kiss him again and he almost gags, pulling away.

“What the fuck, Bro?”

You just smirk and sit back, leaning against the far end of the tub.

“Just take your shower, dickhead.”

He glares at you, but stands up, and you’re quick to stand up after him. You give his ass a little smack and step out of the shower, opening the closet and grabbing two towels. One, you leave on the back of the toilet. The other you use to pat yourself dry, and then you drop it into the laundry hamper. Your boxers and your pants go back on, but you _did_ get nasty-ass sausage juice on your shirt. You settle for walking out into the hallway shirtless, not expecting Dave’s friend to be leaning against the door. He jumps and falls over when you open the door, and you just half-smirk down at him.

“Shirt I can borrow?”

He gets to his feet and walks into what you assume is his own room, coming back with a shirt you aren’t sure is going to fit you. You pull it on anyway, and it does fit—though, you can’t say it fits well. It’s tight, but whatever. It’ll do. “Why don’t we give Dave some time to shower, huh? We can go put another movie in or something.” You gesture for John to follow you down the stairs and he hesitates before following. You sit on one end of the couch and he puts a movie in and sits at the other end and you sit and watch the movie, even though you have no interest in seeing it.

Dave takes half an hour longer and you’re almost considering going to check on him when he comes downstairs wearing John’s pajamas. Ghostbusters ones, too. You wonder if John would have let him wear those under different circumstances. He sits between you and John, and you shoot him a smirk, to which he replies with one raised middle finger. You raise yours back, and John just laughs, a little bit nervously.

You do almost feel bad for the kid, but you can’t really help it that your little brother shoved his hand down your pants and left you horny. You open your arms and offer half of the blanket to Dave, and, surprisingly enough to you, he actually does scoot closer and wrap the blanket partially around himself, although it seems as though he’s trying hard to avoid physical contact with you.

This goes on for a couple hours, and you pretend not to notice that John is stealing frequent glances at the two of you. It’s around four or five that you get up to throw dinner in the microwave, and then call the two teens to dinner.

At the table, you can’t help but smirk, just a little bit, each time Dave shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Your ass hurt?” You whisper the words low enough that you’re pretty sure John won’t hear exactly what you say.

“Fuck you, Bro,” he says, a little too loudly, kicking you in the shin under the table. John looks up from his food, slurping up a noodle and laughing. He sounds so nervous.

Well, you’d be nervous too if you’d listened in on something like that.

You finish eating, and Dave and John finish soon after, and they get up and go in the other room. John puts on a movie—you can hear him talking about it from the kitchen—and they sit on the couch while you at least rinse the dishes.

When you’re finished, you join the two teens on the couch. Dave actually shifts away from you, until you wrap yourself in the blanket from the back of the couch and offer a spot practically on your lap. He leans against you, and John glances over, looking clearly bothered about this ‘brotherly’ affection you’re showing.

You don’t mind too much.

There’s still a tall stack of movies sitting on top of the DVD player, and you’re pretty sure they’ll last the rest of the night until John’s dad gets home.

They don’t, and it’s around eleven when John and Dave leave to go hang out in John’s room. You let them—it’s not really any concern of yours what they do up there—and you lay down on the couch by yourself, wrapped in the blanket and watching whatever happens to come on TV.

You may nod off a few times, but you’re plenty awake when John’s dad walks in at around one thirty, and you greet him, then walk upstairs and knock on John’s door. “Dave. Time to go,” you call through the door, walking away without waiting for an answer. Your shoes are on and you’re waiting at the door with $20 in hand (what did you expect—you babysat two sixteen year olds) and Dave’s taking a while.

When he comes downstairs, he gives Mr. Egbert the briefest of smiles and slips his feet into his shoes, following you out the door after saying a quick and quiet ‘goodbye.’

Dave is entirely silent on the ride home, and doesn’t say anything to you other than ‘goodnight’ when he enters the apartment. He heads straight to his room, and you only shrug and call ‘goodnight’ after him, laying down on the futon.

Maybe next time you’ll get his friend in on the action or something.


End file.
